Flynn,” Chris said into his cell phone. “I need a favor. And fast.”
“A favor? Fast? I’m about to hang up this friggin’ phone.”
“Thanks for all the understanding you’ve always given—”
“Υοu quit the force and left town. You didn’t give me a chance to be understanding. I haven’t heard a friggin’ word from you in two years. I don’t even know where you are.”
“Yeah,” Chris said, keeping his eyes on Sonnie Giacano’s pretty and very expensive house. “Sorry about that. I always intended to make contact. I thought I’d do it when I finally got my shit together. When I do, I will. I’m looking at a New York plate. I need to know who owns the car. Will you fix that for me, Flynn?”
“I’ m a cop—you’re not. Cops don’t run makes for civilians. Against the law. Gimme the plate. And a number where I can reach you. Someone in Traffic owes me a big one. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
Chris grinned and recited his cell phone number, and the particulars from the back license plate on a white Jag ΧΚ8 parked in Sonnie’s driveway. He doubted it was hers because he’d seen her driving the rented tan Camry parked to the left of the house and covered with poinciana petals. The Jag’s windows were tinted his least favorite color—as close to black as they came. There was no reason Sonnie shouldn’t have a visitor with New York plates, but everything she’d told him had made him think she didn’t have a whole lot of friends.
And he had a feeling, the kind of feeling he’d forgotten about, but which he recognized the instant it hit. When he and Aiden Flynn had been partners, Flynn would know Chris was “visiting dark places” just from his still silence.
Sonnie was frightened. Her supposedly funny comment about showing up dead in the morning hadn’t been all joke. She’d already said she thought someone might have tried to kill her.
In the past half hour Chris had ridden his Harley slowly past Sonnie’s house—twice—trying to convince himself he was doing so to please Roy. Roy was worried about his latest good cause, and Chris ought to want to help his brother.
The Jag had shown up in the last few minutes—while Chris was too far away to witness the arrival.
What help would it be to Roy to have Chris cruising back and forth on Truman Avenue and looking at Sonnie’s house? He didn’t like the Jag.
He didn’t like the feeling he was having. Someone sent Sonnie calla lilies with an unsigned card inside the box. And she not only disliked them, but, according to Roy, she had turned pale and looked as if she might collapse.
Calla lilies were funereal, weren’t they?
His phone rang and he clicked it on. “Yeah?”
“You there, schmuck?”
Chris ignored the bait. “What you got?”
“Leased to Giacano Enterprises. They buy surplus goods and ship ‘em overseas. Mostly Russia.”
“Damn, you’re still quick, Flynn.” He frowned. There had been nothing in the research he’d done that mentioned Giacano Enterprises, at least not in relation to either Sonnie or Frank Giacano. But he’d obviously lost his touch for significant feelings. Sonnie had a family visitor, nothing more.
“You still there, schmuck?”
“Yeah. It’s good to hear your voice.”
There was a pause before Flynn said, “Likewise. What’re you doing in Key West?”
Chris laughed. “What makes you think I’m in Key West?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Good hunch. We’ll talk about the meaning of my life one of these days,” he said, “when you need something to put you to sleep.”
‘‘It’s still the woman, isn’t—”
“One of these days we’ll talk about it,” Chris repeated, but the muscles across his shoulders had already clenched.
“Sure you will,” Flynn said. “Ι’ll expect to hear from you in a year or so—or when you need information I’m not supposed to give you. You remember the sixty-seven pink pony I bought?”
Chris looked at Sonnie’s
“A favor? Fast? I’m about to hang up this friggin’ phone.”
“Thanks for all the understanding you’ve always given—”
“Υοu quit the force and left town. You didn’t give me a chance to be understanding. I haven’t heard a friggin’ word from you in two years. I don’t even know where you are.”
“Yeah,” Chris said, keeping his eyes on Sonnie Giacano’s pretty and very expensive house. “Sorry about that. I always intended to make contact. I thought I’d do it when I finally got my shit together. When I do, I will. I’m looking at a New York plate. I need to know who owns the car. Will you fix that for me, Flynn?”
“I’ m a cop—you’re not. Cops don’t run makes for civilians. Against the law. Gimme the plate. And a number where I can reach you. Someone in Traffic owes me a big one. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
Chris grinned and recited his cell phone number, and the particulars from the back license plate on a white Jag ΧΚ8 parked in Sonnie’s driveway. He doubted it was hers because he’d seen her driving the rented tan Camry parked to the left of the house and covered with poinciana petals. The Jag’s windows were tinted his least favorite color—as close to black as they came. There was no reason Sonnie shouldn’t have a visitor with New York plates, but everything she’d told him had made him think she didn’t have a whole lot of friends.
And he had a feeling, the kind of feeling he’d forgotten about, but which he recognized the instant it hit. When he and Aiden Flynn had been partners, Flynn would know Chris was “visiting dark places” just from his still silence.
Sonnie was frightened. Her supposedly funny comment about showing up dead in the morning hadn’t been all joke. She’d already said she thought someone might have tried to kill her.
In the past half hour Chris had ridden his Harley slowly past Sonnie’s house—twice—trying to convince himself he was doing so to please Roy. Roy was worried about his latest good cause, and Chris ought to want to help his brother.
The Jag had shown up in the last few minutes—while Chris was too far away to witness the arrival.
What help would it be to Roy to have Chris cruising back and forth on Truman Avenue and looking at Sonnie’s house? He didn’t like the Jag.
He didn’t like the feeling he was having. Someone sent Sonnie calla lilies with an unsigned card inside the box. And she not only disliked them, but, according to Roy, she had turned pale and looked as if she might collapse.
Calla lilies were funereal, weren’t they?
His phone rang and he clicked it on. “Yeah?”
“You there, schmuck?”
Chris ignored the bait. “What you got?”
“Leased to Giacano Enterprises. They buy surplus goods and ship ‘em overseas. Mostly Russia.”
“Damn, you’re still quick, Flynn.” He frowned. There had been nothing in the research he’d done that mentioned Giacano Enterprises, at least not in relation to either Sonnie or Frank Giacano. But he’d obviously lost his touch for significant feelings. Sonnie had a family visitor, nothing more.
“You still there, schmuck?”
“Yeah. It’s good to hear your voice.”
There was a pause before Flynn said, “Likewise. What’re you doing in Key West?”
Chris laughed. “What makes you think I’m in Key West?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Good hunch. We’ll talk about the meaning of my life one of these days,” he said, “when you need something to put you to sleep.”
‘‘It’s still the woman, isn’t—”
“One of these days we’ll talk about it,” Chris repeated, but the muscles across his shoulders had already clenched.
“Sure you will,” Flynn said. “Ι’ll expect to hear from you in a year or so—or when you need information I’m not supposed to give you. You remember the sixty-seven pink pony I bought?”
Chris looked at Sonnie’s
Similar Books
